Love in a Life
Chapter one
By phaedraphelan
Word count: 5,664
Summary: Sherlock comes to grips with his need to return to New York, but will he and Joan come to the conclusion that will resolve the problems they have had. What is going to happen to them? This is an ongoing rewrite of sorts, based on what we are seeing in Season three with plenty of Joanlock. Tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Elementary and it's characters are the property of CBS and no copyright infringement is intended.
Sherlock had to come back to New York. He had tried to convince himself that he missed the cases with the NYPD, that even it was the weather that was so much more pleasant most of the time than London. He had even found a young woman to mentor, hoping to replicate his success in how he had trained Joan to practice all his deductive skills. Actually he had been miserable the whole time that he had been away from the city, away from his brownstone, away from Joan.
As he sat in a taxi from JFK to Brooklyn, he fell completely silent, reflecting on what lay ahead. His young protégée, Kitty, had an annoying habit of constantly chattering that he had finally been able to close out completely when he desired to. The timbre of her voice in itself was irritating and the fact that she was so young made her unable to even understand certain events of the eighties and nineties in context despite her brightness. He had really chosen her because she was guaranteed to be exactly the kind of female that he would never have any attraction to. Her demeanor was more that of a bratty teenager than a balanced young woman. Sherlock knew also that he was able to conduct himself impeccably with any female.
For female companionship he basically had had no one while in London. He still occasionally sought out a prostitute or picked up someone in a bar or restaurant, when he was especially hard pressed, but he had become essentially a loner. The whole experience of Mycroft and Joan had shaken him so that, for the first time in his life, he truly began to doubt himself as being attractive to the opposite sex. Why had Joan taken Mycroft rather than him? Didn't she sense how he felt about her? She had inhabited his passionate dreams almost since the beginning of her time with him as a sober companion.
Joan was the woman he knew better than anyone. He knew her feminine cycles so well that he could read her moods like a book. When they lived together, he had gone so far as to routinely go into her bedroom and pick out her clothes for her from her personal closet. He even would sit in her room all night at times. while she slept when insomnia and akathisia would not release their grip on him.
That morning when he had walked into Mycroft's apartment and had found him and Joan in bed together was easily nearly the worst moment of his life. The only moment worse was when Joan was abducted by Le Milieu and her life was in jeu. That was after Mycroft had confronted him, rubbing Sherlock's own feelings for Joan in his face and then revealed the level of insensitivity he himself was capable of by taking Joan sexually for himself in her moment of emotional weakness after the kidnapping. Sherlock had tried to toss it all off with his characteristic wit and sarcasm but he had been deeply wounded. Tears still rushed to fill his eyes when he remembered that moment. But at the same time he knew that he would forgive her if she ever gave him the opportunity. There was no rancor in him, only need.
When Sherlock first laid eyes on Joan after his return, everything came rushing back in upon him in an avalanche of feelings for her. He humbled himself to ask her to partner with him again. Sherlock had no pride left, no sarcastic remark, just a sincere pleading on his part to her to allow him to be a part of her life once again. She was the most beautiful person to ever grace his life and he knew it. He sensed that she was not completely happy because he saw that same sadness in her eyes that he had seen the first day they met. That fellow Andrew was following her around. Yes, she had always admitted that she needed male attention . . . going on those infernal dating sites to find someone that would strike her fancy and this Andrew was just the latest, a likable enough fellow, but Sherlock knew that she was just trying to fill a void in her life with Andrew.
As they began to work to solve cases together again, Sherlock realized more than ever why he wanted to partner with Joan again. He had brought Kitty to live in the brownstone, really because there was no other place to put her. Having her there was necessary, but he had no desire to be constantly around her and he also had no desire to interfere with the social life that she would naturally seek out in the city. He was definitely going to keep their relationship on a purely business level. But his desire to be on some sort of footing with Joan was a completely different matter. And Sherlock was at his wit's end as he tried to get on some terms with Joan again. She seemed to be determined to keep him at arm's length no matter how he tried to break through and get close to her again.
Finally, as a last resort, he decided to contact Dr. Candace Reed, the therapist that Joan had regularly visited during their time together. He had encouraged Joan to go back to Dr. Reed for help in the wake of the kidnapping, but he did not know whether Joan had done so. Dr. Reed's receptionist cheerily made an appointment for him and so he showed up at her office the week following the resolution of their case involving the Bella computer.
The Bella computer itself was a fascination to him. He found himself asking about "love" before he realized it and was interested to hear the computer say that love was something of human construct, but at the same time unable to determine why the fact of it existed. Sherlock shocked himself when he admitted that he had loved in the case of his mother, Irene, and currently in the case of Watson. He had more and more come to appreciate that he loved Joan, but was at a loss as to what to do about it. The months of separation had helped him to deduce that what he felt for Joan was more than something of mere human construct.
Candace Reed shook hands with Sherlock when he came to her office and then they sat down to get acquainted. Joan had described him in detail to Candace, but Candace had never met him personally. In a sense he was just as she would have imagined him, but in other ways she was totally unprepared for the man, himself, the extremely jittery and obviously eccentric Englishman who presented himself to her. He was handsome enough in his own unique way, with his piercing blue-green eyes, finely sculptured features and wiry masculine stature, but it was his mental brilliance that fairly exuded from him, and Dr. Reed sensed that that was what had drawn Joan to this man. When she realized that fact, she could easily see why Joan was lost in her feelings for Sherlock. And yet, along with all the bravura of his personality, there was a certain endearing vulnerability about him. Joan would never find another man like him.
"Dr. Reed, I have come here because I am seeking help to resolve certain problems I am having in a relationship. I heard of you through one of your patients, Joan Watson. You know of her, I am sure?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, she visits me. Of course you would know that the nature of our sessions is confidential."
"Yes, of course. Joan, Miss Watson was the victim of a dangerous situation a few months ago and I encouraged her to resume her consultations with you. I was very concerned for her."
"Yes," the doctor replied simply without emotion.
Sherlock stirred nervously in his chair, running his fingers through his closely trimmed chestnut colored hair and then drumming his fingers on his thigh.
"Doctor, Joan and I have been apart for the past eight months. She . . .became involved with my brother and, even though that did not work out for them, it . . . caused a strain on our relationship, professional and otherwise."
"Why did that cause a strain on your relationship with Joan, Mr. Hol-"
"Please call me Sherlock," Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes, Sherlock. Why did that cause a problem? Were you and Joan in a personal relationship that went beyond professional boundaries?"
Sherlock looked at Dr. Reed with utter pain in his eyes before he replied.
"I . . . I fear that I am in love with Joan Watson. I love her as I have loved no one else in my life."
Sherlock's hands were shaking and his eyes filled suddenly when he declared himself so to this total stranger. He was forced to reach into his pocket to retrieve a clean, white handkerchief to wipe away the tears that were spilling over.
"Have you ever told Joan that you care for her this way?"
"No, I thought she knew my feelings. Frankly, Doctor Reed, she was abducted in a series of terrifying events that we were involved in and I was at the point of killing one of the men that I knew to be responsible for her abduction. I would not hesitate to do anything to protect her. In point of fact, my own life would have no value if anything were to happen to Joan. I have nurtured something very deep for her in . . . in my heart from when we first met. We lived in the same house for two years. I held myself back from trying to touch her because I wanted to maintain a proper professional distance but I always knew how I felt about her."
"Sherlock, you are obviously an extremely intelligent man. Did you think that Joan would somehow 'deduce' how you felt without your telling her?"
"We knew everything about each other. She met me at my lowest point. I had found myself mired in heroin addiction and she . . . she helped me. At first I resisted her help but the more I did to try to repel her. . . the more she put up with me. She has made me a better man in every way."
"So you both became very close over time even though you were not . . . lovers? Would that be a correct assessment of your relationship."
"Yes, I know her. I know everything about her. I know what pleases her and what drives her bonkers. I know her menstrual cycle; I know the time she empties her colon each day. I would pick out her clothes from her personal closet; I . . . I would often sit in her bedroom late at night just to watch her sleep. We ate together. I made her coffee. She made me tea. I stood by her when she was trying to cope with the loss of that patient that took her out of her career in medicine!"
"I must ask this as delicately as possible, Sherlock, but were you during this time involved in sexual activity with other women?"
"Yes, but that was simply for . . . relief. It meant nothing?"
Sherlock waved his hand in a manner the completely dismissed those activities as of no consequence.
"And did you ever tell Joan that you loved her as a man loves a woman?"
Sherlock shook his head and dropped his head into his hands. He could not speak.
"But why did she go with my brother?" He groaned in anguish, his blue green eyes full of his pain.
"We don't always know why we do certain things. The important question for you is whether you can forgive her. Can you forgive her for going with Mycroft the way she did?"
"I would forgive her a hundred times . . . like Rod Stewart in the Isley Brothers' song says, 'were she to leave me a hundred times, a hundred times I'll take her back.' She has me not knowing if I'm coming or going. I came back to New York because I can't get over her, doctor. She inhabits all my dreams. I think of her first when I waken in the morning; she keeps me awake at night wanting her. She is the beautiful woman of every poem or song I have ever known or heard. When I play the violin, there are certain pieces that I cannot even play now because the memories they engender of Joan are just too powerful for me to endure. When we parted, it was the closest I have come to taking my life since I was rehabilitated from heroin addiction. I was truly devastated."
"You contemplated suicide, Sherlock?"
"Yes, I did. But I knew that would disappoint Joan. And I could not bear to make her more unhappy."
"That would truly devastate her I am sure. You are too brilliant a man to throw your life away, Sherlock."
"Mental brilliance is no protection against what I experienced, Doctor Reed."
Candace Reed shook her head and sighed. She could finally put the pieces of the Sherlock/Joan puzzle together and she realized that Joan and Sherlock both truly had their hands full emotionally. They had deeply hurt each other and yet their feelings for each other still ran so deep that it seemed that neither could now be happy without the other.
"We live in a time where persons feel that they can separate basic sexual activity from their emotional commitment. Unfortunately this hardly ever works when a serious relationship is at issue.
"Sherlock, what seems to need to happen here is simply communication. You need to tell Joan how you feel, just like you told me here. Perhaps with open communication you will be able to salvage the relationship between you."
"I tried to vocalize my feelings recently. I spoke with Watson and told her that I felt she should know that I came back to New York because of her, that I feel somehow that we are bound together."
"And what did she say?"
"She said that she felt like she should give me a . . . a h-hug." Sherlock's voice caught in his throat and he dropped his head. "Damn, I so wanted that hug."
Dr. Reed smiled slightly, touched by the man's vulnerability, his need for the basics of human contact with the focus of his love.
"And what did you say to her speaking of her desire to hug you, Sherlock?"
"I said that that would be a rash decision. I knew that if I touched her I would not be able to stop touching her. I am under quite a bit of stress, doctor, and I didn't want to repulse her with an overtly sexual response."
"Joan is a mature adult with a definite understanding of human sexuality, Sherlock. You should not fear her response in a situation such as you have described. I encourage you to speak your heart to her. I will be glad to see you again in a week or so, Sherlock. I wish you success."
The very next afternoon Joan had an appointment with Candace Reed. When she sat down across from Dr. Reed, she was obviously emotionally disturbed.
"Joan, you don't quite seem to be yourself today."
"Sherlock is back, Candace. He has been back nearly a month. He asked to partner with me again on any terms that I would decide upon and . . . I . . . I agreed. Why did he come back?"
"Did you ask him why he came back, Joan?"
"Yes, and he said that he came back to New York because he belongs here. I sensed that he came back because of me somehow. He said as much. He said the he feels that we are 'bound together' somehow."
"How do you feel about that, Joan?"
Joan looked at Dr. Reed, overwhelmed, unable to answer for the moment.
"I have asked you before if you have feelings for Sherlock that go beyond the platonic, Joan, and despite the fact that you have consistently denied a romantic attachment, your attitude and reactions to him might suggest otherwise. Face the truth, Joan. How do you feel about Sherlock Holmes? Are you in love with him?"
"I . . . I don't know."
"I think that you really do know the answer to that question."
"Honestly, I do care for him . . . some . . ." Joan's voice broke and she put her face in her hands and broke down in tears.
"I love him. I do love him. I always loved him. I even told him once that I loved just being in his orbit . . . breathing him in. God! When I saw him again, I just wanted to inhale him, to run to him, to smell him, to touch him, to feel him. I had to fight with myself to keep from hugging him when I saw him the first time after all those months. Now that feeling is growing by the day. What can I do? There, I have said it. He is the most amazing man I have ever known. But I ruined everything when I went with Mycroft. He wouldn't want me after all that has happened."
"Tell me, Joan, if you in your heart of hearts loved Sherlock, why did you go with Mycroft, the man's brother?"
"Candace, I . . . I have always had a healthy sex drive since puberty, but these last few years I must admit that it is even stronger. Seeing and being in close quarters with Sherlock constantly, but not touching him, fighting my feelings for him drove me crazy. Sherlock is a very attractive man. When Mycroft came along, it became easy to transfer certain feelings to him."
"And was being with Mycroft what you envisaged?"
Joan shook her head to indicate 'no,' unable to speak for the moment.
"But now I've ruined everything. Mycroft is gone from the picture and moreover, Sherlock would not want me now, after Mycroft has used me."
"How do you know? Have you asked him?"
"No, I haven't."
"Then I would suggest that you do that. That would be my counsel at this point, Joan. If, after that, you two wish to come for some sessions together, that would be something for the two of you to decide."
"Have you seen Sherlock?"
"Yes, I have, and that all that I can ethically say."
Joan got up and left Dr. Reed's office and went to her apartment and fell across her bed in tears. She did not want to discuss Mycroft with Sherlock. She still felt too much guilt over the whole episode to want to enter into a dialogue with Sherlock about it. She curled up in fetal position and cried herself to sleep. She wakened later that evening with that familiar dull ache in her lower back and realized that she was getting her period. She had been so engrossed in the Bella computer case and in dealing with Sherlock's return that it had slipped up on her.
Andrew called her wanting to take her to dinner, but she begged off. After going off to Copenhagen with him on a whim, she had realized that she and Andrew were not really suited to each other. She had tried to make this clear to him, but he seemed unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. In Copenhagen Andrew revealed how truly one-dimensional he was. Also Joan realized that Andrew's sexual temperament was a bit too tepid for her taste. In addition she had realized that if she sought anything more than once a day for sexual activity, Andrew would plead fatigue. It became obvious to Joan that working on a serious business project and maintaining a relationship was too much for him to do at the same time. When they came back to New York, Joan had basically ended their relationship.
Now she knew that she would have to drag herself up and go out to a drugstore for what she needed before the night was over; but the cramps she was suffering were not going to give her any peace. In fact they were getting worse and she was rapidly becoming nauseous. She moaned as she felt totally miserable and alone on her bed.
When she was feeling positively the worst possible, there was a knock on her door. Since it was someone who had already gained access to her building, she hoped it was not Andrew again. She dragged herself from her bed prepared to send him away again, but was shocked when she opened the door. Sherlock was there with a large shopping bag from CVS in his hand.
"Sherlock! You didn't call ahead. I'm not feeling well."
"I discern that. Earlier today when we parted, I observed a familiar pallor on your face and realized that you were on schedule for your catamenia, your menses. Thought I would pick up a few things for you in the event you needed personal supplies."
Joan stepped aside to let him into her apartment. She was wearing old gray sweats, her hair was a wild mess and she was about to double over with cramps.
"I needed . . . things and I am so sick I couldn't imagine how I would get what I need. Thank you, Sherlock."
"There should be some benefit in having lived together for two years, wouldn't you think?" He smiled as he handed her the shopping bag of supplies.
Joan looked inside and saw Pamprin, a couple large boxes of her favorite brand of tampons, plus a heating pad and a box of the special tea that she usually took for cramps.
"I will make you tea. Here, take the Pamprin, and then go and get in bed and I will bring you the tea."
Joan obediently followed his direction, went to the bathroom to take care of her personal situation and then got into bed under her covers. Slowly the discomfort she had been feeling began to ease and the hot tea and medication began to relax her. Sherlock plugged the heating pad in and lifted the blankets and put it on her painful belly without comment and without asking permission.
"How did you know exactly, Sherlock?"
"You know me, Joan. A while ago, long before I went to London I had calculated your cycle for the next two years. I wanted to be aware of when you might have bad days. You know that I have always been fascinated by your biology, the fact and function that is you, Watson."
There was a long awkward moment as Sherlock rocked forward and backward in his characteristic manner and flushed slightly.
"May I do a bit of massage on your feet, Watson. It might help."
Joan looked at him and in that instant she loved him. She nodded, and Sherlock lifted the blankets from her feet and sat down at the foot of her bed and began to massage her feet as Joan drifted off to sleep, but then she began to shiver with chills.
"Please turn up the thermostat. I'm freezing, Sherlock."
Sherlock turned up the heat and the sat back at the foot of her bed, kicked off his shoes, slipped his brightly colored yellow socks with the chartreuse dots off his feet and began to put a sock on one of her feet. But then he suddenly dropped the sock, and lifted and gently kissed her foot, kissing her instep with his lips and then taking her other tiny foot, he held it for a long moment, kissing her instep with his lips and then tenderly kissing the arch of each foot, and each ankle and finally, holding the sole of each foot in turn to his cheeks, his nostrils flared wide open as he kissed each of her tiny toes and they curled in response to the touch of his lips.
"Oh, Sherlock," Joan bit her lip and gasped softly. "Sherlock."
"Dash it all! I love you, dear Joan Watson. I love you more than anyone else in the whole world. I thought that distance would change things, but it hasn't. I saw you and my heart turned upside down in my chest three weeks ago. I love you, not just as the closest friend I have ever had, but as a man loves a woman. I lust for you . . . my flesh desires you. I had to come back to you, Joan, because I feel like you are the other part of me. And I love you more and more every day that I live. Please forgive me, Joan, but this won't go away. I can't help loving you the way that I do. My heart would have burst open if I couldn't tell you what is in my heart."
Sherlock finished by putting his socks on her feet and covering her back up.
Joan was left speechless, trying to process what had just happened between them, experiencing an uncontrollable reaction to Sherlock's kissing her feet so passionately.
"May I lie down with you to warm you?" His voice was soft, barely audible as he sat at the foot of her bed.
"Yes, Sherlock, you may."
Sherlock turned her bedside lamp down, shed his trousers and lay down against her under her covers, letting the heat of the length of his body warm her. Joan reached for his hand, drew it around her waist and held it there. His lips found a sensitive spot near her ear and kissed her there.
"Sherlock, I have missed you so much. I do love you too. I have needed you for so long."
"Do you lust for me as I lust for you?"
"Yes, Sherlock, I do," Joan whispered, flushing deeply.
Sherlock felt hot grateful tears spill down his cheeks. He could not speak. He simply lay close to Joan, warming her body with his body for the rest of the night.
The next morning Andrew knocked at Joan's door before he left for work. He was surprised when Sherlock answered her door, his hair standing on end, his shirt wrinkled and completely unbuttoned, no trousers, in his boxers and barefoot.
"I . . . I stopped by to check on Joan. She said that she wasn't feeling well last night."
"I would cast this as a menstruation issue, Andrew. She has a bad case of dysmenorrhea, cramps. I'm attending to her," Sherlock stated in his most clinical and dismissive manner.
Andrew stepped back and excused himself, somewhat gobsmacked by Sherlock's pointed response, realizing that Sherlock and Joan's relationship was much more than he had imagined.
"Just . . . just tell her I will call her later."
"I will do that," Sherlock said, closing the door as he spoke.
When Sherlock stepped back into Joan's apartment, he saw that she had gotten up and was trying to pull herself together despite her continuing discomfort. She had cleaned up and combed her long hair and braided it into two long fat braids.
Sherlock smiled down at her, suddenly shy before her.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Some. The cramps are still there but not as bad as they were last night. Thank you for being here for me." She rubbed her forehead. "I know that I look terrible."
"You are somewhat pale, but you are beautiful just the same. You are always quite lovely, Joan, even when you are unwell."
Sherlock flushed in a way he rarely did, realizing that his heart was speaking, and Joan blushed in response.
"I guess I should try to find my trousers and put them on. And then I will make you some more of your special tea. Why don't you just go back to bed, Joan?"
Joan nodded and walked back toward the bedroom and lay down. Her mind was clear now and she was reflecting on what had happened the night before. No man had ever made her feel the way Sherlock made her feel when he touched her. When he kissed her feet the night before, it had evoked such a sensual response in her, that she had swooned and her toes had curled involuntarily even though she was in pain.
Sherlock made tea and toast for both of them and brought it to her bedside and they sat in companionable silence drinking tea together.
"I guess that we should discuss what happened between us last night," Joan said softly.
Sherlock smiled shyly and flushed again.
"I got carried away, kissing your lovely . . . feet."
"Yes, you did. You made my toes curl, Sherlock . . . Even though I was so sick, you made my toes curl."
"I . . . didn't intentionally set out to arouse you sexually. I had not taken into account the effect what I was doing might have on you. I was quite caught up in my own feelings for you. I utterly adore you, Joan."
Joan smiled shyly at him and reached for his hand and squeezed it, enjoying the warmth of his flesh holding hers. The sensation of his touch caused shivers to run through her.
"In spite of living and working together we have hardly ever touched."
"I scrupulously avoided it because I did not trust myself, Joan. But I wanted to touch you . . . your cheeks, your hair, your shapely hips and . . . your, your soft round b-breasts. I do so want to touch your lovely breasts." Sherlock's voice broke and he brought Joan's hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Do you think that we should visit Dr. Reed together? She suggested it."
"Do you think that it would help us?" Sherlock asked. "I know that nothing will ever change my feelings for you, but I am willing to do whatever is necessary to make you happy and to protect you. I wasn't able to protect you from Le Milieu kidnapping you and that tore me apart. And I didn't declare my feelings for you and left you vulnerable to the likes of Mycroft and it devastated me when you went with him. It devastated me, Joan. I was so deeply wounded. I was hurt to the very core of me."
His blue-green eyes filled and spilled over as he stared at her and Joan felt her own emotions give way and she broke down in tears.
"Oh, Sherlock . . . I'm sorry. I am so sorry!"
Sherlock put the breakfast tray aside and gathered her into his arms and they cried together for the first time.
"I am so sorry that I hurt you . . . with Mycroft. Can you forgive me for Mycroft? I saw the look in your eyes when you saw me in his bed and I knew how hurt you were. I was so hurt when you left. I had made such a mess of everything."
"I forgive you. I forgive everything. You were traumatized by that kidnapping and I should have told you how I felt about you before then so that you would not have turned to someone like Mycroft. But it's just us now. . . you and me, Joan, no sarcasm, no cynicism. You have torn my heart open, Joan, and only you can heal my heart. It bleeds so for you."
Sherlock's eyes continued to spill over as Joan let herself go and they both finally cried their hearts out in each other's arms. He kissed her cheeks over and over and then her lips as Joan ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him back, both of them rocking tenderly as their emotions came to full expression in words of passionate affection for each other, words that they had never shared with each other. They felt each other's heart beating, pounding in unison in the emotion of the moment as they experienced such close physical contact.
"Sherlock . . . my dear Sherlock, I don't want your heart to bleed. I didn't want to be away from you, but I didn't think you cared for me that way. I wanted you so, but it seemed . . . it seemed that you didn't see me that way."
"Joan . . . sweetheart . . . I didn't want to make you cry. But I do love you. . . care for you. Don't you know that I need to see you every day of my life, luv. That is why I had to come back to New York. I cannot bear not seeing and being with you."
"I wish that I were up to entertaining your needs, Sherlock."
"I respect you, Joan, and I would never want to impose myself physically upon you at this time, but I had to tell you my feelings. I couldn't wait any longer, luv, or it would drive me out of my mind."
"Please stay here in bed with me for a while. I'm unwell with my period, but I would love it if you would sleep in my bed with me for a while longer tonight."
Sherlock eased under the covers and Joan lay upon his chest and gradually fell asleep nestled in the warmth of his embrace.